What you notice about the world will never match your recollections of beauty. I am surprised every day by warmth and light and distance. When I awaken in the night and everything is the same, I search for the one out-of-place imperfection. Even if I am afraid, I am content.
I wonder sometimes if we have hearts only to protect our souls, so that our hearts absorb the damage and we can carry on no matter how battered and broken we become.
(The greatest gift of love is sacrifice . . . )
Only take advice from people who have lives that you wish to have yourself.
If you believe the statement above, you shouldn’t listen to yourself. And so, if you think you should listen to me, you shouldn’t. And if you don’t take my advice, you should have taken it after all. So, listen yourself. However . . .
A paradox? To paraphrase Gödel: every bit of advice is either inconsistent or inadequate. You get yourself tangled and knotted in life whatever your intentions may be.
Like gravity, what weighs us down also gives us air to breathe.
I keep expecting things to disappear
as if fulfilling some innate obligation
–as if nothing and never
are the default modes of space
Let go of permanence: it’s not real.
–else you’ll never feel
We are quick to anger because lashing out is easier than taking the blame for our own lives.
Harsh words are fear (with teeth.)
Remove yourself to the moments of doubt and incompleteness. But never linger.
Calmness is not still; it is synchronous movement.
I was ten years old when I first thought I knew what the world was and how it should be. I’ve been trying to prove myself wrong ever since.
Where the land met the sky
and they dissolved together into a mist,
I began to understand imperfection.
It is two selves who fail one another:
one that we desire to become;
one that we truly are.
Perfection is a singularity.
To be human is to be fragments
reaching out, never satisfied . . .
I don’t do a lot of photography, but most of the pictures that adorn my blog posts were taken by me. It’s a sporadic hobby. However, I am thinking of taking more and posting them serially without (or with little) accompanying text. In any case, here are a few snaps that I haven’t (and probably won’t) use as headers on this blog.
Birds don’t like being photo bait:
Scriber Lake frozen over:
The same lake in duck-friendly weather:
Remnants at Edmonds Beach:
And last but not least, nature commentating on our disposable society:
I don’t talk much about myself in this blog, at least not outside the more abstract and existential underpinnings of my writings, so this is going to be a bit difficult for me to articulate (but here we go . . . )
I have been fighting severe depression for most of my life, a form of mental illness that is very misunderstood. Most people associate depression with sadness, but it mostly represents the absence of feeling. Depressed people often feel blank and at best feel anxious and/or worthless. Sadness is a natural response to negative circumstances in life. Depression hampers you whether your life is going well or not.
Depression robs you of the most precious thing: yourself. It erases you from the world. You can feel like you’re fighting to become real again, or at least human. I remember as a twenty-something wondering if I’d been born into the wrong life as disconnected and out-of-sync with the rest of the world as I felt at the time.
It can be hard for people to empathize with you when you’re depressed. Most of your wounds are self-inflicted. People see you depriving yourself of the good in life and getting down on yourself for no really good reason, and they don’t know how to react. They often think you’re giving up on life when really you’re struggling hard to survive.
The only thing that kills depression is kindness, being good to people who can’t be good to themselves. In the end, even if they don’t believe they deserve to be, depressed people need to be treated like they have some value to the world.
I don’t say any of this to proffer sympathy for myself. I am feeling so much healthier in recent weeks. I’m starting to reconnect to the world in ways I haven’t in quite a long time. And enjoying doing it.
I say this in hopes of helping others. Depression can kill. There are so many good people who take their own lives because they think the world would be better off without them. Or because they fear that if people found out that they are mentally ill, they would be considered dangerous, even inhuman. Or just worthless.
Some people who need love can’t reach out for it. Remember that if nothing else.
Time is not patient.